Oscar kept his pale, scared face turned over his shoulder and his eyes fixed upon the shaggy forehead of the charging buffalo, from which he could not have removed them if he had tried. The fear that he would lose his hold and be gored to death did not cause him to lose his presence of mind; and when he saw that the gallant little nag, to which he clung so desperately, and on which all his hopes of life depended, was steadily widening the gap between him and his fierce pursuer, his strength and courage came back to him, and in an instant he was firmly seated in the saddle, although, as he afterward declared, he could not tell how he got there.

Little Gray astonished and delighted his young master that evening and covered himself with glory. He proved to be very swift, and Oscar was not long in making up his mind that he had nothing to fear.

When he was fully satisfied on this point his alarm gave way to an intense desire to make a specimen of the savage beast that had so nearly been the death of him.

He still carried his double-barrel in his hands—he was somewhat surprised to find it there, and wondered how he had managed to hold fast to it when he so narrowly escaped being thrown from his saddle, and terror had rendered his muscles so weak that he could scarcely sustain his own weight—but the heavy shot with which it was loaded would have made little impression upon the buffalo. They would have added to his fury, but they would not have checked his headlong rush. The only thing Oscar could do was to alarm the camp and obtain McCann's assistance.

The latter was a dead shot with the rifle—at least he had often said he was—and it would be no trouble at all for him to bring the buffalo down at the distance of a hundred yards, even though he were moving at the top of his speed. With these thoughts in his mind Oscar began shouting with all the power of his lungs:

"McCann! McCann! Bring a rifle out here and shoot this buffalo! I wish I could shoot him myself to pay him for the scare he gave me," he added mentally; "but if I ride to the wagon to get a rifle he will be sure to follow me there, and mercy knows what damage he wouldn't do if he got in among the oxen. All I can do is to lead him close enough to the grove to give McCann a fair chance at him. McCann, are you deaf? Bring a rifle out here and shoot this buffalo!"

A few moments later Oscar had the satisfaction of knowing that his wild calls for help had been heard.

The dogs set up a yelp, and came through the grove in a body; but the only man he could see was Big Thompson, who followed close after the pack, carrying a bunch of assegais in his hand.

Excited as he was, Oscar told himself that he had never seen a human being run as that Kaffir did. If he had lived in a civilized country he could have made his fortune on the race-track.

The dogs dashed at the buffalo at once, and quickly diverted his attention from Oscar, who drew up his horse and stopped to see the fight.

The huge beast charged right and left at his nimble assailants, which easily kept out of his way, and during one of these charges he caught Oscar's wind and made another dead set at him.

Little Gray made haste to give him all the room he wanted, and in so doing led the buffalo within a few yards of the edge of the grove in which the Kaffir had taken up his position.

As the game passed him the native threw one of his spears. It flew through the air with surprising force and precision, and, striking the buffalo fairly in the side, buried its head out of sight between his ribs.

"Great Scott!" ejaculated the astonished Oscar, who sat half turned about in the saddle, and left his horse to pick out his own way. "Who would suppose that that man's arm had so much power in it? Where would Paddy O'Brian be now if Thompson had thrown one of those spears at him?"

That the buffalo was severely wounded was evident from the increased fury with which he charged the dogs, which had followed close at his heels.

Seeing that his attention was fully occupied by them, Oscar stopped at a safe distance, and faced about to watch the battle, and to look for McCann, who had not yet made his appearance.

As soon as a favorable opportunity was presented another assegai was launched into the air by the Kaffir's sinewy arm, and, like the first, it found a lodgment in the body of the buffalo, which just then caught Oscar's favorite hunting dog, a huge mastiff, on his horns, and threw him twenty feet high by simply raising his head. When the poor brute came down all the fight was gone out of him—and all the life, too.

"Such work as that won't do!" shouted Oscar, who was trembling all over with excitement. "McCann, why don't you bring out that rifle? Come up closer, Thompson, so that you can have a fair chance at him! Kill him, and I will give you a musket!"

Now a musket is something every native covets. Some of them have been known to travel five hundred miles on foot through the wilderness, every day running the risk of being killed by wild beasts or captured by members of tribes hostile to them, in order to reach the diamond fields, in which they will give a year's labor for a musket worth ten or twelve dollars.

Big Thompson would probably have done the same thing, and thought nothing of it, but he would not take his chances with an enraged buffalo.

He could not be induced to advance more than fifty yards from the shelter of the grove. He wanted to be within reach of the trees, so that he could take refuge in one of them in case the buffalo made a charge upon him.

He hurled two more of his spears with his unerring aim, but they did not seem to have much effect upon the buffalo.

He bellowed with rage and pain, and bled profusely, but continued to fight the dogs with as much spirit as ever.

"I believe I will go after a rifle myself," thought Oscar. "If this battle isn't ended pretty soon I shall lose that buffalo, for it will be as dark as a pocket in ten minutes more. I wonder what is the matter with McCann? He must know what is going on out here."

Talking in this way to himself, Oscar started to ride around the combatants toward the wagon; but no sooner had he put his horse in motion than the buffalo caught sight of him and charged him as viciously as before.

Little Gray set off at his best pace without waiting for the word, and his rider, instead of going toward the wagon, as he had intended to do, directed his course toward the fountain.

Just before he reached it he made a quick turn to the right and galloped down the plain, but the buffalo, which had evidently had enough of the fight, did not follow him; he kept straight ahead.

Harassed at every step by the active dogs, he plunged down the steep bank into the dry bed of the stream, throwing a cloud of sand and gravel into the air, dashed up the opposite incline, and disappeared in the fast gathering darkness. In two minutes more all sounds of the chase had died away in the distance.

"Good-by, buffalo," murmured Oscar, who had once more reined in his horse. "That's what I call provoking. I would willingly have given my best rifle if I could have secured him. There's one thing about it," he added, affectionately patting the neck of his steed, which, with head erect and nostrils dilating, was gazing in the direction in which the game had disappeared, "I shall not be afraid to hunt buffaloes so long as I am on Little Gray's back. If I had only had a rifle instead of a shotgun in my hands I should have had a fine specimen now, for I could have killed him easily enough. Now I'll go and see what McCann has to say for himself."

In no very amiable frame of mind Oscar rode back to the wagon. When he came within sight of it what was his surprise to see his bold after-rider—the dead shot who had killed lions and elephants without number—perched upon the top of the tent, while his driver and fore-loper were snugly ensconced among the branches of a neighboring tree!

He had looked for just such conduct in his Hottentots, for Mr. Donahue and all the rest of his friends had told him that they were the greatest of cowards, but he had expected better things of McCann.

"You are a good one, I must say!" exclaimed Oscar in disgust. "Why didn't you come out there and help me? You had time enough to shoot a dozen buffaloes if you had had any 'get up' about you!"

"I—I didn't know you wanted any help," stammered McCann. "Didn't you tell us to look out for ourselves? I supposed you would come straight to the wagon, and that the buffalo would follow you. That's the reason I got up here."

"Do the words 'Bring a rifle out here and shoot this buffalo' sound like 'Look out for yourselves'?" demanded Oscar angrily. "If you are an old hunter, as you claim to be, you ought to have known that I would not lead a frantic beast like that into camp, to knock the wagon about and gore the oxen and horses! And if you misunderstood me, how does it come that the Kaffir didn't misunderstand me, too? He came out there and helped me all he could with his spears. He didn't kill the buffalo, I am sorry to say, but he showed his good will, and I shall remember him for it. Come down and dish up my supper, and see that Little Gray has an extra measure of mealies. If I wasn't so far away from the settlements I would turn him adrift to-morrow," added Oscar to himself as he dismounted and turned his horse over to the Kaffir, who just then came into camp. "He has not yet earned the fifteen pounds advance I gave him, but I would rather lose that amount of money than have such a coward about me."

"He's getting almost too bossy for a boy," soliloquized McCann as he descended from his perch. "Who would think to look at him that there was so much in him? That was the first buffalo he ever saw, and yet he was as cool as any old hunter. If that is the way he is going to behave I don't want to act as his after-rider, and I won't either, for the first thing I know he will get me into trouble. I think I know a way to make him go back, and if I don't succeed in it I shall desert him. I am not going to risk my life for twenty-five pounds. And if I go I shan't go empty-handed. Mark that, Mr. Preston."

"Say, Thompson!" shouted Oscar from the wagon, "take that as a slight reward for your courage. When you want more let me know. You are the only one among them that has pluck enough to face a mouse."

As Oscar said this he handed out a pound plug of navy tobacco, which the Kaffir received with joyful smiles. The Hottentots looked at it with envious eyes, and even McCann's mouth watered. He had been on half rations almost ever since he left Zurnst.